


Slick (Oil and Ice)

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Angst, Ethics, First Kiss, Human Castiel, Humor, M/M, Massage, Skater Castiel, massuer Dean, speed skater Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speed skater Castiel visits massage therapist Dean while he's in town for the Olympic trials. Dean finds himself struggling to maintain his professional boundaries, but it turns out that Castiel doesn't mind. At all. <br/>(See end notes for warnings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slick (Oil and Ice)

Dean Winchester had worked on all kinds of bodies in his time as a masseuse. Large, small, lean, plump, and every shape in between. There was beauty in all of them, a harmony in how their structures functioned that he could bring into tune with his hands. Because his hands could not only bring comfort and relief, they could leave the body he worked on better than he had found it. When he got hired for sports massage, though, he felt like that was where he could really shine. Working on an athlete was like working on a performance car - all of the work the athlete put into their body magnified the positive effects he was able to achieve with his work. He was good at what he did, and he loved doing it.

But above all, he was a professional. He touched bodies, usually nude bodies, for hours every day. The glide of skin on skin was as normal to him as picking on his little brother - and usually just about as erotic. So why was he having so much trouble controlling his reaction to the person currently on his table? Dean had known the Olympic trials would be a boon to the business while they were in town - Jo had been up to her ears figuring out how to schedule all of the athletes who wanted appointments. He had known he might find himself working on a few attractively muscled bodies. But he was usually so good at creating a detached space in his head where physical attraction to the person he was working on was irrelevant. Because he was a fucking professional, and it  _was_  irrelevant. 

Except that there was nothing irrelevant about how obscenely attracted to Castiel he was.Castiel, a strange name, but it somehow fit the six odd feet of gorgeous, blue-eyed speed skater with a voice like the best sex he’d ever had. They had connection so instantly electric that Dean had been trying to figure out how to get this guy’s number since moments after he walked through the door (even though he actually already had his number, literally speaking, but there was unprofessional behavior, and then there was  _unprofessional behavior_ ).

It didn’t help that Castiel was easy to talk to, quiet conversation dropping between them as Dean started to work. It petered out as Castiel relaxed, drowsy in the semi-dark room, but even their silence had a kind of comfort.

Of course, it wasn’t as if Dean had never worked on someone he was attracted to before, but he managed it. Focused on his task, ignored any issue that  _arose_  until it went away. It was just that his usual approach was completely failing right now. He felt the heat of Castiel’s skin on his palms, every change in texture and consistency radiating up his arms: every nerve in his body was tuned into the feeling of Castiel under his hands. He sighed to himself as he shifted his hips, wishing he could adjust himself a little without breaking the rhythm of his hands on Castiel’s back (his  _client_ , for fuck’s sake, and would his dick please just get that memo already?). He was grateful for the moment he had taken to tuck up into his waistband earlier; at least he wouldn’t be  _poking_  Castiel with the damn thing on accident. 

He worked over the wings of Castiel’s shoulders, pressing deeply into the muscle, trying to let his breathing sync with his hands. Striving to ignore the soft exhales that punched from Castiel when he hit just the right level of pressure. The room smelled like the herbal soothing oil he used for these massages, somehow a tonal match to the muted light and gentle music that played quietly (piped in from whatever spa-type station Jo had it set to). He could change it, change the music or the lights or the oil, but Castiel hadn’t requested anything different, and Dean liked the familiarity of this combination. Except that the music helped mask the sound of his skin rasping softly over Castiel’s, the sound of their breath, and Dean wanted to hear those things. 

Castiel hummed appreciatively as Dean began to work up the backs of his legs, his muscles relaxed and pliant under Dean’s hands. It wasn’t helping the situation in Dean’s pants, which had subsided only to rapidly worsen as his dick realized which body part was next. The round shape of Castiel’s glutei maximi taunted him from beneath the thin sheet draped over his waist, like the promise of two perfect scoops of ice cream on a hot day. Or something really, really…hot. That he would enjoy burying his face between.  _Shit_. His brain was stalling out as he folded the sheet up, working higher on Castiel’s legs. He bit at his lips, silently berating himself as he realized he couldn’t help  _noticing_  that Castiel had opted to be nude beneath the sheet’s strangely insubstantial weight. Which was fine, Dean had said as much, said as much to everyone he worked on - in some ways, it made his work easier, if the client was comfortable with him working on that part of their body. For Castiel, it was an essential part of the massage. The muscle group was the sprinter’s powerhouse, and Castiel had specifically requested its inclusion. It shouldn’t matter. Skin, muscle, connective tissue: tension, pressure, release.  _Release_. Oh god, he needed an off switch for his brain. Or his dick. Either of those would pretty much work at the moment.

His attention snapped back to his hands as Castiel shifted slightly, adjusting his hips on the table.  _Man up, Winchester_ , he thought, carefully folding the sheet out of the way, trying to ignore the way Castiel groaned softly as Dean’s hands began to stroke over the muscles of his butt. He felt his breathing catch anyways. Dean mentally pictured the muscles as he worked over them, mapping a textbook diagram onto the skin beneath his hands, grappling for a sliver of detachment. Trying to ignore the way that Castiel had shifted his hips again. Desperately trying to ignore the fact that he was most definitely noticeably hard in his pants. He focused on where he placed his hands, guiding Castiel to bend and move his leg to help open up his hip joint.  

Dean had finally found the tiny shred of professionalism that remained, his mind back on his work, when a particularly deep stroke drew another moan from Castiel. 

"Too deep?" Dean asked, dismayed at the small waver in his voice.  _Get it together_. 

"No," Castiel replied, the word half a groan, "it’s perfect. Fuck, your hands…’re perfect." The words were muffled, the last part almost too slurred to be comprehensible, but combined with another shift of Castiel’s hips as he complimented Dean’s hands (and it was  _not_  a roll of his hips, no matter what Dean’s overzealous imagination might be thinking), it shot a hot bolt of pleasure through Dean’s gut. He took a few steadying breaths before trusting himself to speak again. 

"Good. You tell me if it is." He folded the sheet back down to cover Castiel’s right side, moving around the table to begin work on his left as he spoke.

"Mmm," Castiel agreed. Dean willed himself to focus, let his hands do the work they knew so well, to focus on the minutia of his task and not on what he would love to do to Castiel. It was a losing battle.  _Later_ , he promised himself mentally,  _calm the fuck down now and we’ll think about it later_. He felt wrong even making the promise to himself in the privacy of his own head, but the alternative was Castiel noticing his, well,  _growing_  situation when Dean had him flip over in a few minutes. It almost worked. And then Castiel groaned again as Dean pressed hard, and that was definitely a roll of his hips this time. 

Fuck. 

And it wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, too, because humans are humans. And Dean _liked_  making people feel good. If his work meant they found more than one kind of release, he had never minded - and he had never strayed a millimeter past professional decency. (A woman had tried to push him, once, but he left her name with Jo, and she found herself suddenly unable to fit into any of the masseuses’s schedules.) Plus, a happy client usually meant a bigger tip. 

And Castiel was being subtle; Dean probably wouldn’t have even really noticed the difference in the movement except that he was so in tune to Castiel, every nerve in his own body straining for contact with Castiel’s body, screaming for more than what he was giving. More than what he was willing to give. Dean realized his hands had paused - only for a second, probably not long enough that Castiel had noticed. He willed himself to resume his task, skin gliding over skin and manipulating the muscle, and the more he focused the worse it seemed to get. The room felt warm. Castiel’s skin was hot beneath his hands. 

He finished his work just as he had on the other side of Castiel’s body, slowly beginning to dread the moment when he had to ask Castiel to turn over. He unfolded the sheet to re-cover Castiel’s legs, more cautious than was really necessary. 

"Turn over for me?" Dean asked, still standing near Castiel’s hips. He almost startled as Castiel’s head snapped up unexpectedly, and Dean tried to angle his body away in time but was clearly too late from the way Castiel’s eyes immediately dropped to the floor. A pause drew out, neither of them speaking or moving.

"I’m not sure if that makes this more or less awkward," Castiel said flatly, finally, turning as Dean lifted the sheet to shield him from view. As the sheet settled back down, air puffing it slightly before it clung to Castiel’s form once more, it outlined the obvious shape of Castiel’s erection, innocuous as a loaded gun along his hip. 

An apology was on Dean’s lips before the sheet even finished settling. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not…it’s not…” he paused. “I can have someone else finish this if you would prefer.” Castiel raised a skeptical eyebrow at the way Dean stumbled over the word finish, then let his eyes drift to where the sheet made his own situation clear. “Not like that,” Dean clarified. There were lines he would never cross. Not that Castiel seemed to be asking him to. Castiel had propped himself up on his elbows. Dean felt his face heat as Castiel regarded him openly.

"I wasn’t implying that. You’re a professional," Castiel stated, and Dean nodded. "Although I have been trying to figure out how I should ask you for your number." Dean felt his mouth open, jaw dropping a little, before he recovered himself and broke eye contact with Castiel. He shouldn’t do this, he really shouldn’t. But he had felt this kind of electric connection with another human few enough times to know that it was something special. And Castiel was probably only in town for a few days, so it wasn’t as if word would spread… _risk versus reward, Winchester. Take the reward_. 

"I shouldn’t give it to you." He met Castiel’s eyes again, his voice strangely quiet as he tried to remember the reasons why he shouldn’t.

"You really should." A small smile curved the corners of Castiel’s lips. "I’ll make it worth your time." There was something dark in his tone that curled in the pit of Dean’s stomach and made him ache for a freedom he thought he had forgotten. He forced himself to break their gaze, almost hesitant as he shifted the sheet so he could resume his work. His hands paused, fingertips brushing over the fine hairs that dusted Castiel’s well-developed quadricep. He felt his face splitting into a grin in spite of his efforts to control it. 

"Yeah, we’ll see," he retorted, and the smile he got in return was worth it. Worth anything, anything at all, because he  _had_  to see Castiel again. “Lie back,” he said, inclining his head. Castiel hummed softly as he complied, taking a deep breath before closing his eyes. Dean could still feel himself smiling as he smoothed his hands over Castiel’s thigh. 

He felt more in control of himself, now that the issue was out in the open. A tiny voice in the back of his head berated him for continuing at all, but he could feel his arousal fading to a distracting background noise. Castiel’s situation…didn’t seem to be worsening, at least. He let his fingers dig into the thick meat of Castiel’s muscle, enjoying the way it heated as he touched it, enjoying Castiel’s soft noise of pleasure.

"You know," Castiel said, a few minutes later, "usually I do this the other way around." 

"Yeah? How’s that?" Dean replied, unsure of what Castiel meant. Castiel’s shoulders shook softly as he chuckled. 

"Normally, I’d get your number  _before_  I take my pants off.” He opened his eyes to look at Dean, deep blue pools where Dean should see nothing but trouble lurking but instead he only wanted to drown in them. “This works, though, I suppose. You have very talented hands.” 

"I have a lot of talents." Dean tried to hold back on the flirtatious response that was his automatic reaction, but he was pretty sure he had failed to strike the neutral, professional tone he was aiming for because Castiel’s eyes grew darker, the water deeper, pulling Dean under. He saw Castiel’s fingers twitch where he had tucked his hands back under the sheet, and he was thankful they seemed to automatically agree on boundaries: boundaries, a concept that should be absurd when Dean had touched nearly every inch of Castiel’s skin. Every inch, except the ones that mattered. Castiel finally closed his eyes again and his breath grew steady; he seemed to drift off as he let Dean finish his work. 

Dean touched his shoulder gently to wake him when he was finished. 

"I’ll wait outside while you get dressed," he said. "Take your time." Castiel rumbled a sleepy response. 

Almost as soon as Dean was outside the room he started to panic. He fumbled through cleaning his hands and retrieving water for Castiel on autopilot. What was he thinking? Thank fucking god he hadn’t crossed a single physical line with Castiel, but damn it he had _wanted_  to, and Castiel had known, and  _fuck_  Castiel had wanted to, too, maybe. And now he was going to let the guy give him his number?  _How did you two meet? Oh, I had my hands all over his ass and then we discovered that made us both hard enough to pound nails so we were like ‘twinsies!’ and then he gave me his number._  Fuck. No, seriously, fuck his life. Because he liked Castiel, a lot, but he could  _not_  afford a reputation for dating his clients. He sighed as he leaned back against the closed door to the massage room, shifted the cold water bottle he was holding to his other hand.

Besides, what if that was all this turned out to be? A meal together maybe, then a rough fuck at his place, the smell of Castiel in an empty bed the next morning and an unfulfilled promise to call? Because Castiel would be leaving town. Always with the adios. 

The door behind him gave way suddenly, Castiel’s eyes inches from his own through the opening. 

"Sorry," Castiel said, as Dean recovered his balance. "Um." He stepped out of the way, letting Dean back into the dimly lit room. Dean turned to face him, and Castiel was probably standing too close as he let the door fall shut, but it made Dean’s heart beat faster and he couldn’t quite bother with giving a shit. Their dynamic felt different now, both more immediate and less intimate, and Dean realized he was afraid. Afraid that Castiel was going to change his mind, decide to report him, call Dean out for being an unprofessional pervert.

"You know to drink plenty of water," he said, feeling kind of stupid as he handed Castiel the bottle of water. He wanted Castiel close, wanted to know more about him, felt a sudden desperate need to keep Castiel in his life.

"Thank you," Castiel said, accepting it automatically, their fingertips brushing. Dean managed to suppress his own gasp, but the hitch in Castiel’s voice sent his heart soaring hopefully again. He felt creepy, standing there still, fingertips pressed against his thighs as he fought the urge to touch (when before  _all_  he had done was touch, and it was time to stop thinking about  _that_ ), watching Castiel’s throat flex as he downed half of the bottle in one go. But Castiel’s eyes were soft as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Um. Do you have a pen?” 

"Yeah," Dean answered, not moving towards the side table where his pen lay, waiting. 

"Good," Castiel said, reaching out slowly, sliding his hand over Dean’s jaw, thumb brushing along Dean’s cheekbone, pulling them closer together. Dean let it happen, his heart thundering to a stop as Castiel’s lips brushed his. It was a chaste press, dry and soft but full of promise. "I have something I need to write down for you," Castiel said, the words a hot rush of air over Dean’s lips. Dean grinned. 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: light Dom/sub themes. Although Dean struggles with maintaining ethical thoughts/professional detachment, he ultimately manages to behave himself.


End file.
